Red
by pansybud
Summary: a rearrangement of a famous fable. non-explicit, rated m for upsetting implications
1. i

Once upon a time, there lived a child known in its hill village for its filial piety; its exemplary honesty, amiability and goodness; and for the red hood and the mask it wore habitually.

The village in which the child lived stood at the shore of a vast and ancient forest, wild and intrepid, a rich resource which dominated the lives and livelihoods of the village folk, apothecaries, potters, woodcutters and hunters. It lived at the hem of the village in a lovely ivy-eaten cottage in the cherry trees and sweet clover by the little stream from which the child carried water and caught fish. It lived with its father, a doctor of medicine, a sombre and sometimes unfeeling fellow, but an exemplary parent whose child wanted for nothing.

Now, the venerable father, the good doctor, worked indefatigably to provide for his child; he wandered the village all day every day but the Lord's day, peddling his medicines and treating ails for coin to trade for the childs red dresses, milk and bread and books, and to keep the roof the child slept under, but in boroughs so small and in that wayward time a constant income could not be counted on, and inevitably overwhelmed by the volume of work required to earn a living wage, the doctors material affection for his child sometimes trickled, sometimes waned.

Fortunately, the doctors father, the child's grandfather, lived still in the ancestral home of the progeny petty miles into the wild wood, and often the doctor escorted his child here to be took up; for as great as the fathers love was for his child, the grandfathers love was greater still.

For the doctor had his life, his education, his vocation, his reverent convalescents and fresh memories of his little wife in addition to his child; the grandfather had only the child, had only its happy laugh to fill the vast silence of his long-empty home, had only its brown knees, pink fingers and bright red hood to disturb the uniform white walls of his adobe room.

So they lived peacefully in this way for many years, the doctor and his child, until one day, as summer simmered, a plague descended on the little village, and summoned by his oath, and unwilling to expose his child to the hell which is pestilence, he resolved to send it away.

So the doctor filled a wicker basket with a feast of bread and cheese, ham, olives, a bottle of brisk potato cordial of his own design; he helped his child into its boots, tied his childs pinafore and the red hood the child so dearly adored beneath its chin, and kissed the childs head, both its cheeks, and the palms of both its hands, and kneeling so his child looked directly into his face, he instructed it thus:

"My dear, take these treats to grandfather - you well know the way - stay with him, be obliging and obedient as you are to me until I send for you to return.

"Do not - mind me, child - on your way, do not delay for any reason. Do not depart the path for any reason. Do not speak to any one or any thing."

"Do you understand?," demanded he, and the child affirmed it did, and the doctor indulged himself in holding his child for a long time, in the drifting shade of the cherry trees the sweet breeze sleepily turned.

"Go," urged the doctor at last, and the child did, and he looked after it only briefly before he hurried weary-worn and with heavy heart back to the town.

Though it left its father unhappily, the child found the solemnity of the state of things falling off it as springtide collapses snowbanks. It is a challenge to stand in the wood in summer and succumb to sorrow! for the wood was deep and brilliant, a busy reef of tall mushroom-encrusted trunks and seething greenery through which crystal damselflies and bleating bluebirds weaved, and the child was completely alone in it - but far from foreboded, the child rejoiced in its newfound freedom, and its tread became quickly a skip, and as it trespassed the boundary of the canopied deep wood it emitted a pretty if muffled song.

It traveled this way for some time, through meadow and field till the sun rang overhead at the crown of heaven, and then it came to pass; in a narrow bend in the viridian glen where some sunlight slipped in, barring the patchwork path, stood there the wolf.

"Little child," smiled the wolf, though the child saw only a tall, thin man in princely clothes of exquisite design, head dipping in salutation, "how have you wandered into these woods?"

The child, a sweet and simple soul, recounted that it sojourned to meet its grandfather in his estate therein.

"Ahh," said the wolf - how refined and fine his voice! How regal his smile! An exactly irresistible man! He adjusted his crisp collar and sapphire tiepin in a way the child could not fail to be impressed by - "I see you are a good child, that honors its grandfather."

The child only smiled, and the wolf returned that smile, and it was a pleasing smile, indeed. Almost imperceptibly, the wolf approached.

"And whereabouts," inquired the wolf further, "does your very fortunate grandfather reside?"

and the child replied, just along the woodcutters path, just this way.

"I see, I see," said the wolf, walking around the child to perceive it from all angles, stroked the childs head and plucked up the childs chin.

"Do you hurry so," continued he, "you can not retire a while to my home? I have sweets and treats for good children, I know many delightful games, and together," here, the wolf put his hands insistently around the child, his thin fine hands so soft, and smiled very wide, very wide, "we will share a scrumptious meal."

and the child replied it could not, it had been admonished to not delay for any reason, to not depart the path.

"Good child!" praised the wolf, holding the child now in his very arms, and his smile was really so handsome, his demeanor so gentle, his words elegant and beneficent, and carrying the child up the path from whence he came he kissed it delicately in the cup of its collarbone.

"Such a discerning child," said the wolf in an undertone, as if admitting a wonderful secret, "I must reward with favor."

What is it? wondered the child.

"Why, only look ahead!" and the child did, and beheld a riot of color; a little beyond the pebbled wayside, only a little, amongst the matronly trees between pillars of amber sunbeams an abundance of beautiful red poppies were growing wild in beds like bloodstains.

The child alighted, clapping its hands in delight, and the wolf laughed aloud.

"Will your old grandfather not delight in these happy artifacts, which resemble you so, when you are obliged to depart him? Go on," urged the wolf, releasing the child, producing a ribbon to tie the poppies in, and depressing it in the childs hand, he patted its backside and repeated, "go on."

And putting aside its basket, it lit upon the poppies like a fairy, or a poppy-maid itself, dyadic and very dear, gathering the cheerful confections in its apron skirt which it drew out into a purse, and its song returned, clearer, brighter and sweeter for its more ebullient mood.

The wolf observed the scene, standing in the crypt-like quiet with slender hands neatly folded and a benevolent smile which did not reach his eyes and despite the delectable odor of poppies another scent came to him, a novel scent, and better. It did not emit from the basket.

The child in the red hood saw the wolf watching it, smiling his handsome, handsome, handsome smile, and looked away and back again, and the wolf had gone.


	2. ii

The grandfather, an immense bear of a man who filled his bed gratuitously, sat abruptly up at the knock which rattled his parlor door.

"Is it my little grandchild?" called he, who had been warned by courier of the childs arrival.

"It is I, grandfather," came the small cherry-sweet reply, and scrubbing sleep from his eyes bid the child to come in, come in at once, and the child did, and plodded audibly through the barren house until it burst abloom through the door to the brightly lit bedroom of the grandfather

and how blessed felt the kind old grandfather, accepting into his arms his beloved, the distillation of his only son, the happy laughing little one in the poppy-red hood!

The grandfather would not know what killed him, would not be certain he had died at all, but indeed dying quickly and very painlessly, holding the treasure of his heart in his arms, he died a happy man.


	3. iii

The child in the red hood, with circlets of spicy poppies woven in its basket brim and crowning its covered head, walked brazenly in the wild wood which it, young and heedless heart, felt it had befriended. Noon had passed and the burgundy simmer of evening evinced in the distance, the bolero of birdsong diminishing to a contented minuet, the heat of the day full and still, covering the ribbon of earth woven through the wood.

Presently, in navigating the path, it came upon a squat, broad shack, huddled beyond a squalid and trodden yard by the wayside, and in the yard stood a man, a squat, broad laborer, arms upraised paused in swinging an ax over a half-carved roast of wood.

The child paused in surprise, and the woodcutter, putting on a cordial grin, put his ax aside, patted his brow with the sleeve of his rough red shirt, and said, "hello."

The child gravely nodded.

"Are you well?" the woodcutter requested, very politely, having swept off his hat which he held to his breast, "where are you going?"

The child replied it traveled to meet its grandfather, in the wild heart of the wood, and the woodcutters grin broadened, and the child saw that atop his obstinate jaw and rough, dwarven features the woodcutter possessed a shock of sensitive, intelligent and very kind eyes, which now dwelled upon it with something like affection.

"And where is your father?" the woodcutter inquired politely.

The child hesitated at this, looking at the halo of heady blossoms which dressed its basket.

"You aren't all alone!" the woodcutter exclaimed, and the child replied it was.

"Well, now!," answered the woodcutter, "isn't it an unsafe journey for a helpless, little child to undertake? Don't you know there are wilds animals in the woods? Now, wouldn't you like me to walk with you?"

The child replied, no, thank you, that wasn't necessary.

"Valiant little thing, aren't you?" The woodcutters speech was coarse and slangy, but somehow very good to hear. He patted the child in a friendlike way on the head, and put out to the child the handle of his ugly little ax.

"Well, now, my little friend," said he jovially, jest tangible in the air, "would you consent at least to take a weapon with you?"

To the woodcutters astonishment, the child accepted the token. It was barely light enough for it to lift. The woodcutter laughed out loud.

"Bold child!" praised he, and gave it to the child, with an encouraging clap on its back. "Have it, then! and hurry along, now, you hear?," and the child did.

The ax head cut a groove in the path behind it where it dragged, but the child found it liked it very much, liked its hard and stalwart character which recalled its father, and the child held tender feelings for its father at arms length for the short trot into the humid grove where it found the crooked cottage faithfully standing, its cabbage garden and red brick well, its rainbow stone cloister, and a peculiar odor barely perceptible permeating from around the front door, which was locked.

"Is it my little grandchild?" the child heard call its grandfather, who had been warned by courier of the childs arrival.

and, cherry-sweet, the child replied it was.

Bid come in, come in at once, the child did, and throwing open the door to the cottage it trotted through the parlor to the bedroom only to stop, astonished, at the sight of his grandfather, or rather, the lack thereof; because all shut up was the grandfathers room from whence issued his kindly beckon, the windows closed and curtains drawn, narrow walls barely lit by a flickering tallow candle standing on the bedside drawer, and the enormous form of the grandfather almost visible, even in the blistering heat, tucked beneath the quilt into bed. The room smelled very peculiar.

"Come, come," said his grandfather, a little quietly, "my little one, come into bed with me."

The child obeyed at once, putting aside its basket and ax and crawling into the parted arms, inquiring gently did the grandfather feel ill? for he sounded strange.

"A little, I fear," confessed the grandfather, which the child could not quite see, but felt embrace it, felt cover it up with the quilt shut in against the furnace of his heaving belly and breast "only a little fever which I'm certain you can cure for me."

"Won't you?" asked the grandfather, and the child nodded vigorously, causing the grandfather to laugh, and it was a very strange laugh indeed, too high, too quiet, subdued in a way the child couldn't recall the grandfather sounding, and the grandfathers hands held the child too tight, touching with shivering avarice the childs legs, back and the crown of its red hood where it lay at his throat.

The child asked grandfather, why did his hands seem strange, gripping it so?

"Why," said the grandfather, intimately cupping the childs cheeks, "they longed to hold you, grandchild, to pet your head, to pluck you up and carry you about and rock you to sweet dreams."

The child considered this as the grandfathers oddly hungry hands considered it, peering in the dark for a glimpse of his grandfathers kindly smile in the vague impression of face which hovered over it, and presently, it asked the grandfather why he looked at it so, so intensely.

"These old eyes aren't as keen as they once were," explained the grandfather patiently, "and how eagerly they have anticipated drinking up the sight of you, my sweet small one!"

and the grandfather began to kiss the child, but the kisses were not quite what the child expected; the grandfathers mouth was too hot, and the kisses given too hastily, and too hard, and the child felt ill at ease, and asked its grandfather, why did his mouth assault it so?

"Of course," murmured the grandfather, putting his fingers into the chin of the childs mask and lifting it a little, finding the childs mouth and amidst the tender kiss he insisted upon it admitted, "it is, my darling, my dear, to eat you with."

Starting in surprise the child saw then his grandfather was not his grandfather but a thing which wore his grandfather; a snarl of evil intent, of dark and desperate wants, a bad black animal like the foul-smelling knots one sometimes discovers in basin drains; and, alarmed, the child scrambled away, out of the imposters arms, out of reach; collapsing on the floor with a crash, its grasping hand found the staff of the woodcutters ax where it protruded from its basket and frantically swung it, and the grandfather-which-was-not-grandfather opened like a poppy flower, and vivid red flowed forth.

Infused and insensate with reptilian terror, the child threw the ax again, and again, and in the third strike the ax slipped from its shivering fingers; the candle which stood sentinel at the bedside was struck from its post, and it fell with the heavy lead ax head into the basket of goodies; there was a shatter and there then a brilliant little bud of fire bloomed.

The child looked at the red mess now illuminated, the red which saturated his grandfathers bed, the red in which its hands had been dipped, and the red of the fire which ate up the straw of the basket, the bread, cheese and meat it had carried to his grandfather, the flowers it had picked; the fire which leapt audaciously up upon the feet of the bedside table it had descended from.

Amazed, the child watched from the hall threshold the bright fire devour the grandfathers bedroom. The child watched from the yard the fire devour the grimacing cottage, the crisp white paint blackening, stripping in curls. The child watched from the footpath the roof collapse, the windows burst, liquid ruby spray smoldering in the garden, taking root in the wooden stairs and well roof, panicking in the soft dark soil where it floundered, the child watched the fire gobbled up the home, the wolf and the dear old grandfather.

The child lay where it fell in the blushing earth what seemed a long time, watching the fire unravel. It lay as the woodcutter, investigating the unmistakeable signal and stench of smoke, discovered it in the brilliant twilight almost sleeping, its face in its hands, baptized in soot and blood, and it lay as the woodcutter plucked it up in his arms and carried it away from the path of the fires rampage, up the old wood path to his homely shack, where a long while later, they married.


End file.
